


Hobbies

by SealedAsBefore



Series: Life Lessons [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Hobbies, Light-Hearted, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SealedAsBefore/pseuds/SealedAsBefore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cole looked between the wood and the tools Blackwall held. “Could I do it, too?” </p>
<p>“You? You want to carve?” Blackwall winced at his own disbelieving tone, and tried again, gentler. Callum hated hearing that anyone discouraged Cole from pursuing new interests, and Blackwall wasn’t about to get caught on the wrong end of another one of the Inquisitor’s I’m-shocked-and-disappointed-but-I-still-believe-in-you lectures. “What brought this on?” </p>
<p>“Varric says it’s normal to want to hit people, but that I shouldn’t. He said I should find a hobby.” Cole pointed at the mallet and chisel. “This has hitting, and cutting, and in the end, things look better. I want to try.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or: Cole needs a hobby that doesn't involve killing people or listening to their thoughts. His friends are more than happy to help him find one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little block, little knife

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a multi-chaptered hobby-finding fic that I'll be posting periodically. Each chapter will focus on a different member of the inner circle, and Cole trying to interact with them and give their hobbies a shot. If people like it and want more of it, I'll update it more quickly. Jemisard, this is for you! I hope you like it!

Blackwall lightly tapped the chisel with the mallet, gouging another hunk out of the wood he was working with.

 

“What is it?” There was a curious voice to his left, in an area Blackwall was certain had only held air a moment before. It said much about how used to strange happenings he was that Blackwall didn’t even pause in what he was doing.

 

“This is going to be a horse, when I’m through. This bit here will be the mane.” He brushed aside some of the wood shavings, revealing the vague shape beginning to take form underneath.

 

Cole was several feet away, and then in a blink he _wasn’t_ , next to Blackwall and fitting his fingertip into one of the deep grooves left by Blackwall’s chisel. “You form the picture in your head, and then hit it to make it look like you think it should?”

 

Blackwall started to correct Cole, but thought the better of it, shaking his head with a short laugh. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

 

Cole looked between the wood and the tools Blackwall held. “Could I do it, too?”

 

“You? You want to carve?” Blackwall winced at his own disbelieving tone, and tried again, gentler. Callum hated hearing that anyone discouraged Cole from pursuing new interests, and Blackwall wasn’t about to get caught on the wrong end of another one of the Inquisitor’s I’m-shocked-and-disappointed-but-I-still-believe-in-you lectures. “What brought this on?”

 

“Varric says it’s normal to want to hit people, but that I shouldn’t. He said I should find a hobby.” Cole pointed at the mallet and chisel. “This has hitting, and cutting, and in the end, things look better. I want to try.”

 

Blackwall had to admit that he could understand why Cole would be interested. Hadn’t Blackwall started carving for much the same reason, to keep the mind and hands from turning somewhere they weren’t meant to go?

 

“Alright, but you don’t want a big block of wood just starting. Take one of those smaller pieces, and a little knife, and get yourself comfortable. Carving is a hobby for patient men. Rush, and all you’ll make is kindling.” Blackwall watched as Cole took his time selecting a piece of wood a bit larger than the length of his hand, and one of the small, deft knives Blackwall kept for detail work. Once Cole had taken a seat in one of the barn’s corners and seemed content, Blackwall turned back to his own work. Over the sharp tap-tap-tap of the mallet on the chisel, Blackwall could hear the steady scraping of Cole whittling down his block of wood. It was comforting to know he wasn’t alone, though they were both silent for long moments, absorbed in their own tasks.

 

The sun was low enough to permit the lighting of a lamp when Blackwall next looked up. The horse was coming along nicely, only fine detail work left to add around the eyes, the ears, the flowing mane and tail.

 

“How did you do, Cole?” Blackwall asked as he laid his tools aside and made a halfhearted attempt at tidying up his wood shavings.

 

“I made a thing. I’m not sure if it’s…good.” Cole stood and put the knife back where he got it, crossing the barn in that not-quite-right stride of his.

 

“It’s your first attempt, nothing to be ashamed of if it’s a little lumpy.” Blackwall could remember his first carving. He’d been trying for dog, and had ended up with a three-legged bear.

 

Cole held his hands out, his carving balanced across his palms. “It’s not like yours.”

 

Blackwall stared, lips twitching with suppressed laughter beneath his beard. “Is that…Cole, did you carve a knife?”

 

“It’s a dagger,” Cole corrected, mouth pinched as he grasped the wooden hilt and mimed stabbing. The thing may have been wooden, but it looked wicked, long as a hand with a subtle wave pattern that traveled up the wooden blade in dips and peaks. The hilt was carved with a pattern of interlocking squares. The entire thing was impressive, beyond what Blackwall had expected from a novice.

 

“You used a knife to carve a knife,” Blackwall continued, stifled smile breaking free. “I don’t know why I thought you’d do anything else.”

 

“Did I do it wrong?” Cole’s face fell as he worriedly turned the dagger over in his hands.

 

Blackwall took the carved dagger and looked it over, knowing that Cole would immediately know if he was lying. “This is fine work, Cole. The detail on the hilt must have taken you a while, it’s nearly perfect.” He handed it back hilt first, as he would have done with a real blade, and clapped Cole on one bony shoulder. “Good work. You’re welcome to practice here any time the urge strikes you.” He gave Cole’s shoulder a friendly squeeze, then went back to cleaning up after himself.

 

Cole tucked his wooden dagger into his belt to show to Varric later and shuffled over to the smaller door on the side of the barn, preferring it to the larger one that led out into the open courtyard.

 

Before Cole could get too far, Blackwall called his name. Cole stopped, the slight tilt of his hat showing he was listening.

 

“Don’t stab anyone with that,” Blackwall said gravely. “Wood splinters, it festers in wounds and death comes slowly and painfully. It is not kind.”

 

Cole turned just enough for Blackwall to see the solemn look on his face as he promised, “I’ll remember.”

 

He slipped out the door a heartbeat later, and was lost to the lengthening shadows outside, leaving Blackwall alone again. Blackwall didn’t feel the lack of company this time. Cole’s visits always left him feeling lighter. The thought that the spirit could be near, even if Blackwall wasn’t aware might have been disturbing months ago. Now, it was simply a part of Blackwall’s new life that he was learning to find comfort in.


	2. Rabbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look like you’ve got time. How about a story?” 
> 
> “With rabbits?” Cole asked hopefully, tucking his feet underneath him and leaning on the table, head pillowed on his arm. 
> 
> Cole’s eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat, but Varric got the distinct feeling he could see just fine. “For you, Kid, I’ll toss a couple rabbits into the tale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of the previous chapter, give that a read if you haven't already. I was inspired to write this by SirButt's comment on what it might be like for Cole to actually show his carving to Varric. I hope you like this, SirButt, and thanks for the idea!

The soft _scritchscritchscritch_ of Varric’s quill moving across parchment was a constant, comforting sound to the dwarf. The satisfaction of creating something functional and beautiful from nothing but crude parts was present even here. Varric was a maker, could craft substance and depth whether his tools were wit and words, or rivets and glass.

 

He was currently working on the latest chapter of Swords & Shields, partly as another surprise for Cassandra. Mostly, though, it was because after the final battle with the world’s latest evil, syrupy romance and overblown drama seemed to be incredibly popular. Sales had bumped up just enough for Varric to justify devoting a chunk of time to producing more of what was still his worst serial. Cassandra didn’t like any of his others.

 

Varric shook a cramp out of his hand, letting the fresh ink on the latest page air dry to give his fingers a break. He’d been writing all afternoon, taking advantage of the relative quiet that stole over the main hall this late in the day. Servants were done cleaning, gossipy nobles were off collecting ammunition from every corner of Skyhold, the Inquisitor was off on some important business or other, and those that hadn’t accompanied Callum had been given the day to themselves. Varric never wasted an opportunity to feed his adoring fans (or in this case, _fan_ ), and had passed a very productive day with plenty of pages to show for it.

 

He spotted motion from the corner of his eye, and turned to see Cole loping over, drawing a piece of wood out of his belt and clutching it protectively in his hand.

 

Well-accustomed to Cole’s charming oddity, Varric set his work aside, giving Cole his full attention as the spirit took a seat to his right at the table. “What’d you find, Kid?”

 

Cole shook his head, the wood beginning to bend in places as Cole nervously tightened his grip. “Not found. Made. Blackwall helped. He showed me how to carve, to let pain out a different way.”

 

Varric held his hand out palm up, laughing brown eyes warm and pleased. “You’re trying new things, that’s good. Let me see what you did before you break it, Kid. I can hear you grinding the wood to powder.”

 

Cole’s hand opened like it was on a spring. “I’m what!?”

 

“Not literally,” the dwarf assured with a chuckle. “If you were that strong, you wouldn’t need weapons at all, would you? Save you some time.” Varric made a beckoning motion, and Cole handed him the wooden dagger he’d made. It was lighter than Varric expected it to be, heavy in the solid hilt and far too light in the blade. He realized he was examining it like an actual weapon, and it wasn’t, despite looking just like one. Varric tried to see it differently, as what it was; Cole’s first act of creation. The kid had carved a dagger out of wood, managing to replicate the silver square designs on the Inquisitor’s terrible Tevinter carpets into an actual pattern that wound itself up the hilt like a blocky snake. The artificer in Varric had to respect effort like that.

 

“It isn’t useful,” Cole murmured, looking just past Varric’s hip, where Bianca rested carefully against his chair. “Not like Bianca is. She’s prettier, too. It isn’t bright and loud like the bombs you and the Inquisitor throw, full of ice and fire.” He traced a pattern in the air, the same series of interlocking shapes on the floor, and on his dagger. “It kept me from hitting anyone, and made Blackwall happy I was there. That’s good too.”

“It isn’t a weapon,” Varric agreed, handing the dagger back to Cole, who looked about ready to spirit himself away. Varric handed him a cup and slowly filled it with wine to keep him too distracted to run off before he’d heard Varric out. “Honestly, Kid, we’ve got enough weapons. This is better. That pattern, it’s precise. You’ve got the hands for deft work. Come see me if you ever want to learn to make something ‘bright and loud’.”

 

They both smiled at that, knowing bright and loud were everything Cole was not. Varric wasn’t surprised when Cole set the wine down without drinking, to reclaim his dagger and examine it, trying to see it as Varric saw it. “Better than a weapon,” he mused.

 

“That’s right, Kid. It’s better than what most people expect. It’s just like you that way. The first thing a person makes usually is.” Varric smiled and poured himself some wine.

 

Cole thought about all the people who expected him to be a monster, and the creeping, dark fear that took him sometimes, the terror that he already was one, and that once again, he wouldn’t realize until it was too late.

 

He thought about the people who knew what he was and still called him friend, who let him stay close and quiet and content, who let him lay hands and soothe hurts and bring joy when he could. He thought of Dorian, who was playful and curious and sometimes covered in bright red slashes of his father’s pain that only Cole could see as tangible things, who kept the wooden duck Cole had found, and put it on a shelf beside his bed. Cole remembered when Blackwall had warned him away, only to pull him in and teach him things a human man would need to know, who had laughed when Cole appeared in the barn with a brush, but had been amiably still and let Cole work the tangles from his hair, and his mind. And Cole considered Varric, the first to pull Cole solidly to the real world, the first to treat him like a person. Varric, who poured him wine and didn’t frown when Cole spit it out, afraid of drowning, who told stories with rabbits where everyone lived, and told stories of demons where everyone died, who taught Cole that life was good and bad at once, and that there was value in both.

 

Cole knew Varric saw value in him, too, the spirit-turned-human who so often did wrong when he was trying to do right, who carved a weapon where another man might have carved a toy. “I think I understand,” Cole said as he tucked his wooden blade back into his belt. “It isn’t wrong, or right. It is what I made, because I am me.”

 

“Because you’re a person,” Varric added.

 

“Yes.” Cole kept his hand on the wooden hilt, like Cullen constantly checking to make sure his blade was still there, sharp and ready to protect.

 

Varric nodded approvingly and shifted to a more comfortable position, noting that Cole wasn’t rising to leave. “You look like you’ve got time. How about a story?”

 

“With rabbits?” Cole asked hopefully, tucking his feet underneath him and leaning on the table, head pillowed on his arm.

 

Cole’s eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat, but Varric got the distinct feeling he could see just fine. “For you, Kid, I’ll toss a couple rabbits into the tale.”

 

“I like rabbits.”

 

“I know you do.” Varric dropped into his storyteller persona, setting the scene of what was going to be an epic, unbelievable tale, like most of his stories. “The Champion and his merry band of fugitives, thieves, apostates, and otherwise unsavory individuals were scouting some ruins up on Sundermount…”

 

* * *

 

 

One story turned into two, and a third before Varric bowed out and sought his bed. The next morning, when he returned to put in a few more hours’ work at Swords & Shields, he found something balanced on the last page he’d written—A wooden rabbit no bigger than his thumb, complete with floppy ears and a little ball of a tail. “Thanks, Kid,” Varric said as he sat down.

 

Throughout the day, he found himself toying with the little carving when he couldn’t get the words to flow like he wanted them to. It helped him to focus, but Varric didn’t think that was why Cole had given it to him. This time, for the first time, Cole had given a gift simply because he wanted to give one.

 

It was another sign of his personhood, of his growth, and Varric treasured that. From then on, he always kept the little rabbit close, in a pocket or on the table. His stories then featured more rabbits than was statistically probable, but the delight on Cole’s face was worth the rumors of groups of wandering cave-rabbits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Comment down below and let me know what other shenanigans and situations you want to see. I'm also accepting all sorts of prompts over at [my tumblr](http://hahahawke.tumblr.com/). Currently, I'm working on a fic about Cole trying to sleep, featuring Solas, of course, so look for that in a few days! See you again!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it! Comment down below, let me know what other sorts of situations you want to see Cole in! I'm also taking prompts over at [my tumblr](http://hahahawke.tumblr.com/). (You can also see a crap ton of my nsfw writing, if you're into that). Prompt me, follow me, comment here, kudos, it's all great and keeps me writing! Don't be shy. See you again!


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